My Three Sons: Batman Style
by Jlbrew28
Summary: Bruce/Batman tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim. Warning: There will be spanking of teenagers and adolescents in this story. IF THIS OFFENDS YOU, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !
1. Boys Will Be Boys

Batman

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

Chapter 1: Boys will be Boys

The dark streets of Gotham City teemed with people, but high above them on the rooftops above, a battle was being waged for their very lives without them ever knowing it.

Batman, the Dark Knight, had protected the city he had called home for nearly two decades now. For many years, he had stood alone—a lone blockade against the tide of villainy and criminal mischief that plagued the city at its core—but no longer. He had gathered around him three very special young men…

"Nightwing," Batman spoke into his comm. link, "do you read me?"

He was currently on one of four rooftops that gazed down at a lone warehouse in Gotham's east side district. There had been reports of drug trafficking coming from this area and all the clues had led them here. Tonight, there would be a few less drug traffickers on the streets. He and his boys would see to it.

"Reading you loud and clear," Nightwing's voice spoke back to him. "Perimeter is clear on this side so far. No sign of anything…yet."

"Keep watching," he instructed his oldest, "something's bound to happen sooner than later."

"Will do," Nightwing said. "Nighwing out." The comm. link disconnected.

Batman nodded. Everything was all right on the right side, but how about the back?

"Talon," he said, connecting to his middle protégé's comm. link. "Do you read me?"

"Yo," his middle boy's voice popped into his year loudly. "What's up, Pops? I hear ya!"

Batman sighed. Talon had a wild streak in him that was proving hard to tame. "Just checking in," he told him, "anything back there?"

"Nope?" Talon replied. "Boring as hell back here! Can we go yet?"

Batman sighed. "Watch your language," he reprimanded, "and no. Not yet. Keep your eyes open."

A loud sigh was his only reply at first. "Sure thing, Pops," Talon said. "Later." There was a definite click as his comm. link disconnected.

Batman shook his head. What was he going to do with that kid? So, the right and back were taken care of. Now for the left?

"Robin?" He called his youngest "bird". "Do you read me?"

"Yes, sir," Robin's young voice squeaked a bit over the line, "I hear you. Nothing to report, though." He sounded tired, which wasn't surprising as it was nearly eleven o'clock at night.

At twelve, he was the youngest of his boys and would normally have been in bed sleeping by now. But this sting was just too important and he needed all of them to help round up the scum.

"Try and stay awake a little bit longer," Batman told him. "It shouldn't be too much longer."

"Yes, sir," Robin replied, and then his comm. link also clicked.

Batman nodded. The entire perimeter was secure and that meant if something _did_ go down he and his boys would be able to spot it.

Just then, two cars pulled up and several men got out and headed into the warehouse.

Batman connected to all three comm. links at once. "All right," he spoke to his three partners, "this is it. Everyone ready?"

"Ready," Nightwing responded.

"You bet," Talon said, "let's go kick some ass!"

"Ready whenever you are," Robin replied.

"All right then," Batman said, "let's go, but move carefully. We don't know yet what kind of weapons they got." Taking out a grappling line, he prepared to repel down to the warehouses roof. From the other three rooftops, he saw three lines shoot out at the same time and connect to the roof. Three dark shapes then repelled down below.

Smiling, a surge of paternal pride welling up in him, he released his own in and leapt into the night sky with his cape flying out behind him to join his boys down below.

It was time to go to work.

TBC…


	2. Who's scared now?

Batman

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

_(This chapter is dedicated to Pdantzler2. Thanks for "listening".)_

Chapter 2: Who's scared now?

On the rooftop, Batman and his boys assembled around the skylight to peer into the warehouse down below.

"You were right," Nightwing told him. "It looks like the Scarecrow is up to his old tricks again."

"The question is," Batman said, "to find out what his plan is?"

"Who cares?" Talon scoffed. "Let's just go kick his ass already!"

Batman glared at his middle partner. "What did I say about the language?" he asked him, sternly. "You have to learn to control this impulse streak of yours…or _I'll_ control it for you. Understand?"

Talon sighed. "Whatever you say, Pops," he grumbled, "but I don't understand what were waiting on."

Surprisingly, it was Robin who answered him. "For him to make his move," he told his older brother. "Once we _see _the Scarecrow take money for his drugs, _then _we can go in and nab him."

"We're not the cops, little bro," Talon told him, rolling his eyes.

"We're not above the law, either," Nightwing told his younger brother, seriously.

"That's enough," Batman growled at them. "Your minds should be on the job at hand."

"Yes, sir," all three answered simultaneously.

Down below, the criminal madman known as the Scarecrow was talking to some men. They handed him some money, and he then pointed to several boxes—which were probably filled with his fear inducing poison.

"Let's go," Batman said, "but no stunts." This seemed to be aimed more at Talon than the other two.

Talon saluted. "You got it, B-man," he said, and then promptly crashed through the skylight.

Sighing, Batman went next followed by Nightwing and Robin. The moment they landed, they all assumed fighting stances.

Scarecrow glared at them, as if they were a nuisance. "Well," he yelled at the men who were standing there staring, "don't just stand there, you dolts. Kill them!" He pointed a bony finger at the four costumed vigilantes.

Nine men moved as one to attack the crime fighters. "As if," Talon snorted, somersaulting into the air, landing, back-flipping into the air, and then leaping up to nail two of the crooks in the chest with a butterfly kick. They went flying and didn't get back up.

Two others charged at Nightwing, but he was ready for them. Performing a slide any baseball player would be envious of, he tripped one of the thugs up and then knocked him out with a punch to the jaw as he fell forward. Then, moving almost simultaneously, he spun out with his outstretched leg and took the legs out from under the other crook. As the man fell back, he spun and delivered a heel kick to his jaw. He was out cold when he hit the ground.

Another two came at Robin, but despite his smaller size and stature he too had no problems taking the two down. Leaping high into the air, he somersaulted backwards…the heel of his boot connecting with one of the crooks jaw as he flipped over. The other crook came at him with a crow bar, but he ducked underneath it, slipped between the man's legs and knocked him off balance with a kick to his rear end. Unfortunately, the man caught himself and spun around towards him. He lunged, but Robin was faster. Jumping up, he delivered a flying round house to the side of his face that sent him sprawling.

The final three charged Batman at the same time. As the Dark Knight moved to engage them, he yelled to his three partners. "Get Scarecrow!"

The three nodded, and each sprang into the air. When they landed, they were surrounding the bony masked mad-man. "Well, well," he taunted, "three little bird. Come to play with the Scarecrow have you?" He cackled, minacingly.

"More like to kick his ass," Talon growled.

"You don't scare us, Crane," Nightwing informed him. "Now, you can make this easy or difficult."

"Please say easy," Robin said, "it's late."

"Please say hard," Talon said, "so I can…"

The Scarecrow began laughing insanely. "You three really think you can scare the King of Fear?" he cackled at them. "Please, boys, you're way out of your league."

"And you're way outta your tree, Mr. Macadamian," Talon growled, and then charged forward, quickly followed by Nightwing and Robin.

Unfortunately, the Scarecrow leapt into the air and they missed him, crashing into each other. "Hee hee, ho ho," he cackled, "poor little birdies!" He was so busy taunting the boys that he failed to notice Batman behind.

"Poor Scarecrow," Batman said, causing the "King of Fear" to jump in fright, "tonight just isn't your night." He then reared back and delivered a jaw breaking upper cut to his jaw. The Scarecrow went down and he didn't get back up.

"Who's scared now?" Talon taunted, smugly.

Batman glared at him, and he shrugged. The sound sirens were heard in the distance. "Tie them up, boys," he said, referring to the thugs, "and let's go. Commissioner Gordon can handle things from here."

They did so, leaving Scarecrow and his thugs tied up in the center of the warehouse. They then got out grappling lines and propelled themselves through the skylight again. From there, they watched as the criminal and his possess were rounded up by the police.

Just before driving off, Commissioner James Gordon looked up toward the roof and saluted with two fingers. Batman saluted back and the turned to his boys.

"You all did well tonight," he told them.

"We missed Scarecrow," Nightwing said, clenching his fist.

"You kept him busy long enough," Batman told him, "that's what was important. I'm proud of you."

The boys all smiled. Compliments from the Dark Knight were rare, but always treasured because they were sincere and came from a true source of pride in their abilities. That meant more to them than all the "Good jobs" in world ever could.

"Thanks," they answered at the same time, followed by three yawns.

Batman smirked. "Let's go home," he told them. "You all have school tomorrow."

Three groans followed this, but he merely ignored them and propelled down to the ground below where the Batmobile was waiting. Talon and Robin followed, while Nighwing headed down into the alley to get his Nightcycle. The two vehicles then headed out of the city and on towards home.

It had been a long, though successful night, and all four members of the Bat family had earned a good nights rest.

TBC…


	3. Breakfast with the Boys

Batman

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

Chapter 3: Breakfast with the Boys

The next morning, at Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne awoke at his usual time just after sunrise. He showered, shaved, and got dressed in one of his usual business suits. He then headed down to breakfast.

Downstairs he automatically by-passed the formal dinning room, which was only ever used during dinner parties or special occasions, and headed into the kitchen to join his already up and dressed sons at the small, round, family table that was there. The same table, Bruce had eaten at every morning as far back as he could remember and now his sons ate at it, too.

Alfred, his foster father/butler, was of course busy scurrying around the kitchen getting things ready for his four "Masters", titles Bruce and all his boys had repeatedly tried to get him to stop using but to no avail, before they left for work and school. The moment he Bruce entered the kitchen a newspaper was promptly delivered into his hands.

"Thank you, Alfred," he smiled at his old friend.

Alfred nodded back. "Of course, Master Bruce," he said. "I trust you slept well."

Bruce nodded. "Actually," he said, "I did."

"Good," the butler said, and then scurried back to check on the muffins he had in the oven. Bruce went and joined his boys at the table. The moment he sat down at plate of eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee was sat in front of him.

As he started eating, he gazed at each of them in turn. Dick, at eighteen, was a senior in high-school who had let his hair grow out to shoulder-length recently and kept it tied back into a tail during the day. He wore a white t-shirt, black jeans, and both black motorcycle jacket and boots. He was serious, yet had a wry sense of humor at times, and straight forwardness he'd learned from adopted father.

Bruce felt a strong sense of paternal pride in the fact that he had helped shape the young eight year old boy who had come into his care ten years before after the death of his circus performer parents.

Jason, at fifteen, was going through a rebellious stage at the moment and it showed in not only his poor grades but also his hair and clothing. His hair spiked up with gel and wearing jeans with holes all in them, he also wore dark sunglasses and a blue jean jacket. Bruce strongly disapproved of the look, which only seemed to make his middle child that more gung-ho to wear it.

_Typical teenager,_ Bruce thought grinning. Jason had come to him after the then twelve year old boy had had a run in the nefarious Two-Face. The slit-personality driven mad-man had killed the boy's hood father and would have killed the son as well had it not been for Batman and the newly christened fifteen year old Nightwing. They had rescued him and he after learning about who they truly were became convinced he'd make the perfect Robin—a mantle he had worn until just recently.

Tim, the youngest, who sat eating a bowl of cereal in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, had been the son of wealthy socialite Jack Drake and his wife. Jack, an old school chum of Bruce's, and a frequent golfing buddy had named him the boy's godfather in the event something happened to him and his wife. That something had been a car crash two years ago when Tim had been ten years old. Bruce not only took him in, but also legally adopted him giving him the Wayne name.

In fact, he had given each of the boys his name; Dick's full name was now: Richard Grayson Wayne; Jason's was Jason Todd Wayne; and Tim's was Timothy Drake Wayne.

"So," he said, speaking to his sons, "anything interesting going to happen today at school?"

All three rolled their eyes at him. "Yeah," Jason spoke up, smirking, "I intend to sleep."

Bruce rolled his eyes at him. "Besides that," he said, glaring at his middle son.

Dick shrugged. "We have mid-terms coming up," he said, "but that's not a problem. Babs is gonna help me study." He smiled, as thoughts of his girlfriend and fellow crime fighter Barbara Gordon flitted into his mind.

Bruce grinned. "Just make sure that's all you do together," he warned him, smirking.

Dick smirked back. "Of course," he said, innocently. "What else would we do?"

"Uh huh," Bruce said, giving him a look, "I'm sure I'd rather not know."

Dick blushed and found his eggs very interesting all of a sudden.

"What about you, Tim?" he asked the youngest boy, who happened to be sitting directly in across from him at the table.

The boy swallowed his mouthful of Cheerios and shrugged. "Not much," he said. "I think we're going to dissect a frog in science. That'll probably be cool."

"I bet Cass is just gonna love that," Jason joked. "I bet she's seen her share of blood and guts before!" He chuckled, while his little brother glared at him.

"Jason," Bruce said, warningly. "That's enough."

Twelve year old Cassandra Cain was the daughter of an infamous assassin and as such was skilled in just about ever martial art known to man. She had spent her entire life in silence, until the Batman had foiled one of her father's attempted missions and he had fled the city without her. Taken in by Commissioner James Gordon, she now lived with him and his daughter Barbara. She had also taken up the mantle of Batgirl, since Barbara had fashioned herself a new identity: _Kestrel._

"What?" Jason asked, innocently. "I'm just saying'." He smirked, knowing how much it annoyed his father.

"Well," Bruce said, raising an eyebrow at him, "I'm just saying, cut it out and eat your breakfast. Now."

Jason nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, the smug smile disappearing from his face and he went back to eating his breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, all four of them were finished and Alfred cleared away their dishes.

Dick was up out of his seat and headed for the back door. "Well, I'll see you all later," he said, grabbing his motorcycle keys from the rack at the door. "I have to pick up Babs."

"Drive carefully, Master Dick," Alfred warned him, sternly.

"Sure thing, Alfred," Dick promised. "Don't I always?"

"No," Bruce answered, "but you'd better."

Dick saluted. "Later," he said, grinning and was out the door before anything else could be said. A few minutes later the sound of a motorcycle revving to life was heard and the squeal of tires came next.

"I really must speak to him about that," Alfred said, frowning.

"I will," Bruce said, standing up. "Come on, boys, go grab your school books and let's hit the road. I have a meeting with the board to get to."

Jason and Tim grabbed their backpacks, which Alfred always sat by the backdoor every morning, and headed out to the Rolls Royce parked just outside. Bruce grabbed his briefcase and joined them. Alfred, after removing his apron and putting on his jacket and bowler came last. He got in, started the car and headed out of the driveway of Wayne Manor.

It looked like it was going to be a fairly typical day in the lives of Bruce Wayne and his boys.

Of course, appearances always do have a way of being deceiving.

TBC…


	4. A Day in the Life

Batman

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

Chapter 4: A Day in the Life…

Dick pulled his motorcycle up in the back parking lot, the one reserved for student use, of Thomas Wayne High School. He waited for Barbara to dismount, and then removed his helmet.

"So," he said, flashing his girlfriend and fellow crimefighter his patented smile, "What do you say about playing hooky with me tonight?"

Barbara removed her helmet and shook out her long red hair. "Love to, Boy Wonder," she told him, "but can't.

He sighed, and hopped off his bike. Grabbing their backpacks, they headed inside. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because," she told him, "I need to work on my scholarship applications. Unlike somebody, I don't have a rich father who can afford to pay my way through college."

"He's offered to give you a scholarship through the Wayne Foundation," he reminded her. "Why don't you just take it?"

"Because, Dick," she told him, "I don't want somebody to just "give" me a scholarship. I want to be "granted" one because I "earned" it. Get it?"

Dick sighed. "Yeah, Babs," he told her, "I get it."

"You should really think of doing the same," she told him, as they entered the building and headed straight for their adjoining lockers.

"Why's that?" he asked her, smiling. "Like you said, I have a rich father who can pay my way through school."

"Dick," she told him, giving him a look, "we both know that's not what you really want. You've never taken anything from Bruce that wasn't given to you. You don't want a free ride through college anymore than I do."

He nodded, agreeing with her. "I may not want college period," he told her, hesitantly.

She paused in her search for her history text book to stare at him with her cobalt blue eyes. "What are you saying?" she asked him, surprised.

He shrugged. "I'm just not sure I want to go to college," he told her.

"Then what are you going to do, pray tell?" she asked him, hand on her hip.

"I was thinking," he said, hesitantly, "that I'd become a cop."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "You can't be serious?" she asked him.

He frowned. "Why not?" he asked her. "Don't you think I'd make a great cop?"

"Yeah, I do," she told him, "but what are you going to do? Uphold and enforce the law by day and then turn right around and break it at night?"

"C'mon, Babs," he told her, lowering his voice so only she could hear, "you know we don't break the laws."

"We're technically vigilantes, Dick," she told him. "That's called taking the law into your own hands. In any other city, we would be hunted down and arrested."

"We don't actually take the law into our own hands, babe," he told her, smirking. "We catch the crooks and then let the justice system take over."

"So why do you want to become a cop if you're already doing their job for them?" she asked him, pointedly.

"Becaue," he answered her, "at least as a cop I'd get some recognition for catching the bad guys."

She looked at him, puzzled. "I don't get it," she told him, shutting her locker with a _clang,_ "you get recognition now."

"Yeah," he told her, "as Nightwing—not Dick Grayson."

"What's wrong with that?" she asked him, gently.

"Because," he told her, "all anybody sees of Dick Grayson is the former circus performer who was adopted by a billionaire playboy and who's dating the Police commissioner's daughter—probably at his rich father's insistence."

"Gee," she told him, rolling her eyes, "thanks a lot."

"Come on, Babs," he told her, snorting, "you know I didn't mean it like that. It's just…I'm more comfortable in Kelvar and a mask than I am in my own skin. I need to do something worthwhile as Dick Grayson. Becoming a cop might just do that for me."

"Have you talked to Bruce about this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He looked away, uncomfortable. "No," he admitted. "I've been meaning to, but…"

"Are you afraid he'll be disappointed?" she asked, knowing how much his father's opinion mattered to him.

"No," he said, "I'm afraid he'll force me to choose."

"Between being a cop or being Nightwing?" she asked, surprised. "Why would he do that?"

"Because," Dick said, "he doesn't want me risking my life twice."

"Isn't that a good thing?" she asked him, grinning.

"Yeah," he said, "if I were still Tim's age, but I'm not. I'm eighteen, Babs, and yet I still have to worry about what he thinks and says…"

"I still worry about what my dad thinks and says," she reminded him, "and I'm eighteen, too."

"Yeah, but that's different," he told her. "You're dad isn't…"

"Isn't what?" she asked, grinning.

"Such a hard ass about every little thing," he said, huffing.

"He's only that way because he cares," she told him. "You know that."

He blushed. "Yeah," he admitted, "I know."

Just then the bell rang for first period.

"So," he said, his patent smile back on his face, "about the Rave tonight?"

She laughed. "Nice try, Boy Wonder," she said, kissing him on the cheek, "but no go. You'll have to fly solo on that one. I'll see you after gym." She then turned and hurried to her first class.

"Yeah," he told her, shrugging his backpack onto his shoulder. "I guess I will."

**&**

"Come on, Hawke," Jason spoke into his cell phone in the boy's restroom. The bell for first period had just rang but that still gave him five minutes to get to class before he was considered late…and even he was it was only History.

"I can't, J.T." Connor Hawke, the son of Oliver Queen, spoke to him.

"Why not, man?" Jason asked him. "It's gonna be a blast from what I hear."

"I have to patrol tonight," Connor, who worked with his father (Green Arrow) as _Nighthawk, _told him. "Don't you?"

"I'm just gonna tell the old man I've gotta paper to write," he told him. "He'll take his "heir" with him and little Timmy, too. He won't even miss me."

"Why do you think Batman doesn't care about you?" Connor asked him. "You're his son, after all."

"What are you, my therapist?" Jason asked him, rolling his eyes. "C'mon, just make up some excuse and catch a ride with Roy. You just _know_ he's gonna book it down here to get in on the action."

"I'll think about it, Jason," he promised. "I'll text you later and let you know."

"Great," Jason said, smiling. The tardy bell rang and he swore under his breath.

"Something wrong?" Connor asked.

"No, man," he assured him, 'nothing at all, but I do gotta go. Catch yaw later." He hung up, tucked his cell phone down his pants, and grabbed his bookbag. He dashed out of the boy's room and…

Ran smack into the principal of the school. "Ah," the balding gentlemen said. "Late for class, aren't we Mr. Wayne?"

"Uh, yes sir," he said, jerking his thumb back at the bathroom. "You know, these things take as long as they take."

"Uh huh," The man said, obviously not believing a word of it, "then you'd best hurry along. I'd hate to have to speak to your father this afternoon and interrupt his busy day."

"Yes, Sir," Jason agreed, "that would be very bad indeed. Pops _hates_ receiving calls in the middle of the day. Well, I gotta go. Catch ya later." He then turned and hurried on to his first class.

_Boy, that was a close one…_

_**&**_

Tim and Cassandra walked down the halls of Martha Wayne Middle School together headed for their home room class.

"So, are you going to go on patrol with us tonight?" he asked his best friend and fellow crime fighter.

She shrugged. "Maybe" she said, quietly. That was the thing about Cassie, she didn't say much but then again she didn't have to. Usually, her fists and feet did the talking for her.

"Great," Tim told her, smiling. "Dick and Jason are starting to get on my nerves. They keep treating me like a little kid."

"You are a little kid," Cassie reminded him, grinning.

He scowled at her. "Thanks a lot, Cass," he told her, nudging her in the arm a bit. "You know what I mean. I'm just as good as they are, and yet they don't really listen to any of my ideas."

"Does _he_?" Cass asked him, referring to Bruce. She almost never called him by his name and when she spoke of him it was always in a hushed, almost awed tone of voice.

"Sometimes," Tim told her, "when he's not too busy listening to Dick and Jason. Sometimes being the youngest just sucks."

She grinned at that, only to have it vanish a second later when they ran into the school's resident bully, Deek Thomas.

"Well, well," the older eighth grader said, "look who we got here. Prissy boy Wayne and his little mute girlfriend."

Tim sighed. "Leave us alone, Deek," he told him. "We don't want to fight. We just want to get to homeroom."

"Not so fast, rich boy," the bully growled at him. "You know how this works. You want to get to class, you first have to pay the toll."

"I'm not paying you anything," Tim told him, glaring up at him. "Now, get out of our way."

"And if I don't?" the older boy said, grabbing Tim by the collar and hoisting him off his feet. "What are you gonna do about it, spazz? Run and tell Daddy?"

Tim gritted his teeth and his fists. He could have taken the bully down easily, but that would have revealed his mastery of both acrobatics and marital arts—two things that might seem strange for a rich playboy's son.

Cassie, however, had no such qualms. Everyone knew who her father was, so there was no reason not to use her impressive skills. She kicked Deek in the shins, forcing him to let Tim go, and then spun to deliver a perfect round house to the boy's gut—pinning him to the wall.

"Leave him alone," she said, her dark eyes boring into the bully's own with lethal intensity that most she reserved for the hardened criminals at night, "or else…"

The bully's eyes were wide and he just nodded. She let him go, and then they started on their way toward home room.

"Just you wait, nancy boy," the bully called after him. "You're girlfriend won't always be around to protect you!"

Tim gritted his teeth, and his fists again.

"Ignore him," Cassie told him, gently.

"That's easy for you to say," he growled at her. "He's afraid of you."

"He'd be afraid of you to if you'd only stand up to him," she reminded him.

"I know," he admitted, "but you know why I can't."

"Actually," Cassie said, eyeing him intensely, "no I don't." She then turned and headed into class.

"You know," Tim said, "I don't either."

_But I wish I did._

**&**

In his office at Wayne Tech, Bruce sat and stared out the window. Lucius Fox was rambling on about a new project they had in the works, but his mind really wasn't on what his old friend was saying. He had been staring at the picture of his boys that lined his desk, and grinned.

_I wonder how their day is going?_

TBC…


	5. Dinner with the Boys

Batman

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

Chapter 5: Dinner with the Boys

Dinner that night at Wayne Manor was a quiet one, something Bruce didn't fail to notice.

"So," he said, attempting to break the silence, "how did your day go today, boys?"

"Okay," all three answered at the same time.

He raised an eyebrow. "So it was a just another day, huh?" he asked. "Dick?"

His oldest son stared into his eye with a level stare, something he'd taught him to do years ago when he didn't really want someone to see what he was thinking. "School's school, Bruce," he told him, shrugging.

He nodded, and looked at his middle son. "What about you, Jason?" he asked.

Jason's stare was defiant, as always. "A few teachers busted my chops," he told him, sneering. "Nothing new there, Pops."

"Uh huh," Bruce said, "maybe if you'd listen to them once and awhile—heaven forbid even show them some respect—they wouldn't have to 'bust your chops' as you put."

Jason snorted. "What-ever," he said, and looked back down at his food.

Bruce felt anger rise to the surface and he really wanted to haul the boy into his study for a "chat" with his father's paddle for his disrespect, but pushed it away. He remembered Leslie telling him that of all of them, Jason was the one who needed to be understood the most—not yelled at or punished—as he was the one most likely to develop anger issues.

_He certainly has those,_ he thought to himself.

Sighing, he looked at Tim. "What about you, son?" he asked. "Everything go okay today?"

For all the training he'd had, Tim still wasn't very good a hiding his feelings from anyone—especially his father. He usually gave himself away when he was trying to lie. Usually, his eyes twitched or he pulled at his left ear when agitated or nervous—just as he had started to do when Bruce started asking about their days.

"Uh," he said, his eyes wide, "my day went okay, too. Went to class, went to lunch, w-went to gym. Y'know, the usual." He smiled, but there was no amusement in it.

"I see," Bruce said, concerned for there was something obviously happening at school that Tim did not want him to know about. His sons really didn't give him enough credit sometimes.

Dick pushed his plate away and stood up. "I'm done," he announced, "I'm heading out."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. "What about patrol tonight?" he asked, crossing his arms. All of them knew how he felt about patrol.

Dick shrugged. "Sorry, Dad," he told him, "but Babs needs help with her college applications and I promised to give her a hand. Later." With that, he grabbed his helmet and was out the door before anyone could say anything.

After he was gone, Jason stood up also. "May I be excused?" he asked, surprising his father.

"You going to head down to the Cave?" Bruce asked him, curious.

"No," Jason said, shrugging. "Sorry, Dad, but like I said some teachers chewed me out for sloppy homework and stuff. They all assigned some just to see how I'd do. You always tell us school work comes first—even before patrol."

Bruce nodded. Yes, he always did tell them that. "Very well," he said, "go on upstairs and get started." The boy hurried out the door very quickly.

Bruce sighed, discouraged. His boys seemed to be growing further and further apart, from each other and especially from him.

"I guess it's just you and me tonight," Tim said, smiling, "huh, Dad?"

Bruce looked at him warily. "Not tonight, son," he told him. "I'm afraid I'll have to go in alone."

"Why?" Tim asked, his eyes showing his hurt feelings.

"Because," Bruce explained to him, "Gordon got wind of a rave happening tonight where some possible drug dealers are going to be—preying on the kids at the party. I'm going in undercover as Matches Malone to try and sniff them out."

"You were going to take Dick and Jason with you," Tim told him, pouting a little bit.

"Yes," Bruce said, evenly, "because they are both the same age as the kids that are going to be at this rave tonight. I'm afraid, son, you'd stick out quite a bit."

Tim sighed. "I guess you're right," he said, pushing his plate away. "You think Alfred would like to play chess tonight?"

Bruce smiled. "Why don't you go ask him and see," he told him, encouragingly. All three boys viewed his old friend as a grandfather—one that could be strict but also ready to listen to anything they had to complain about, even when it was good ole dad. Alfred how no qualms whatsoever telling the boys all about _his_ teenage years, much to his dismay.

Tim nodded and hopped up from the table. He hurried to find their trusty butler, who was more than likely in the study resting his tired bones. That's what he usually did after he'd prepared dinner for them. Bruce had tried to get him to seat down and eat with them, as a member of the family, but the old coot was too set in his confounded "gentlemen's gentleman" ways that he said it would be improper.

_Sometimes I wish I could use Dad's paddle on him, _he thought with a smirk, _He certainly never hesitated to use it on me when I was being stubborn._

Getting their dirty plates, he took them to the sink and set them in. Alfred would more than likely rope Tim into helping wash them—to get to the chess game faster, or so he'd tell the boy—so he knew there was nothing stopping him from heading on down to the cave.

Tonight, he wouldn't be dressed as Batman—but he'd still be the Dark Knight, nonetheless. A determined glint filled his eyes as he descended down into the dark underground cavern that sometimes felt more like home than the mansion above it did.

He had a rave to attend, and little did he know but he wasn't the only member of the Wayne family going to be in attendance as well.

TBC…


	6. Busted

Batman

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

Chapter 6: Busted

The rave was in full swing.

"Are you sure you should be here, Roy?" Dick asked his best friend and fellow crime fighter, Roy Harper (the adopted son of Oliver Queen, a.k.a. Green Arrow). "I mean, you _know_ there's bound to be drugs…"

"C'mon on, man," Roy exclaimed, clapping him on the back, "don't start in on me. It's been a tough week and I want to relax. You're starting to sound like my old man, worse even, _your_ old man!"

Dick winced. That was pretty bad, but he couldn't help it. Ever since he'd found out, at fourteen, that Roy was addicted to drugs he'd been super over protective of the guy. "Sorry, man," he apologized. "Let's just have a good time."

Roy smiled brightly. "There's the ticket," he said, laughing. "Besides, I _had_ to come. It's not every day that the Monk wants to sneak out. I just had to _see_ that."

"The Monk" was Roy's pet name for his younger brother, Connor Hawke, the biological son of his adopted father who had—until a year or so ago—been raised in a Tibetan monastery. Since being found by his father, the fifteen year old had become a crime fighter in his own right, fighting along side his dad and brother. He also had become best friends with Dick's own younger brother, Jason—which had taken them all by surprise. Connor, usually, was the soul of virtue of honesty and obedience, while Jason lived for secrets and disobedience. It certainly proved true that opposites were drawn to each other.

"I still can't believe Jason lied to the old man," Dick said, shaking his head at his brother's stupidity. "If Bruce finds out, man, I'd hate to be little bro then."

Roy smirked. "Didn't you lie to the Bat, too?" he asked, smugly. "You don't sound nearly as worried about yourself."

Dick snorted. "Get real, Roy," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm eighteen, after all. What can he do to me?"

Roy looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "This is the _Bat_ we're talking about, man," he exclaimed. "I'm more afraid of him than I am Ollie—and that's saying a lot because Ollie is plenty scary. Your old man makes harden criminals, men who'd sooner kill someone than look at them, whimpering like beaten dogs just from a _glance_! And you're asking me what he could do to you?"

Dick glared at him, annoyed. "It doesn't matter anyway," he grumbled, sourly. "He's not going to find out, so let's just find our brothers and enjoy the rave." He turned and waded into the crowd.

Roy chuckled. "Sure you're not scared," he said, sarcastically to himself. He then followed after his friend.

They found their younger brothers beside the drink table, obviously about to take a sip of something that looked suspiciously like beer. "Hold it," Dick exclaimed, snatching the cup out of Jason's hands just as he was about to bring it to his lips. "I don't think so!"

Jason glared at him. "C'mon on, Dick," he said, glaring. "It's just beer!"

"And you're just fifteen, Jason," Dick said. "It's illegal."

Jason snorted. "It's illegal for you too," he reminded him, "and I'd bet Dad would just _love_ to know you and Roy go bar hopping instead of "studying" like you do." He was referring to the older boys' monthly "study" sessions that really were just excuses to get out from under the ever watchful eyes of their fathers. Sometimes, being the kid of a superhero, just plain sucked.

Frankly, so did being the brother of a superhero.

Dick sat the cup down. "That's a low blow, Jason," he growled at him, "even for you!"

Jason shrugged. "Alls fair," he said, "in love and war, big bro."

Dick snorted. "What are you now?" he asked, sarcastically. "Shakespeare!"

"Please," Connor spoke for the first time, "do not fight. We are here to enjoy ourselves, aren't we?"

Dick and Jason glared at him, but backed off each other. "Yeah," they agreed, "we are."

"Great!" Roy exclaimed. "So, let's go party!" Clasping Connor about the shoulder, he pulled him towards the dance floor and a couple of really cute looking girls in _very _short mini-skirts.

Dick and Jason followed. "You think Dad and the Brat's all right?" Jason asked, off-handedly.

"The Brat" was their nickname for Tim.

Though he really wasn't, he could be a downright pain in the butt when he wanted to be.

Dick shrugged. "I'm pretty sure," he said. "As far as I know, tonight was supposed to be a routine patrol. Joker, Ivey, and the rest of the nut jobs are still locked up in Arkum as far as we know."

"So," he asked, hesitantly, "you think maybe you could give me a lift?"

Dick raised an eyebrow at that. "Afraid the old man'll beat you home?" he asked, smirking.

Jason snorted. "No," he said, "besides, my door is locked and the camera turned off. He won't know I've gone anywhere…"

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," a deep male voice spoke from behind them, causing them to jump.

Both froze, recognizing the voice. They turned and found themselves staring at a tall, broad shouldered man wearing a wool cap, black wool sweater, and blue jeans. He had stumble—applied, they knew, by cosmetics—and held a toothpick in between his teeth.

"Fancy meeting you two boys here," Matches Malone, a.k.a. Batman (a.k.a. their _Dad!)_ said, grinning.

Both Dick and Jason had gone quite wide eyed. They were busted and they both knew it.

Bruce decided to drop the act a moment, and glared at Dick. "I don't see Barbara anywhere," he said. "Did she get her applications finished?"

Dick blushed at that, knowing he'd been caught in a lie and ashamed of himself for it.

Those piercing blue eyes turned to Jason. "Funny," he said, "this is quite an unusual place to do study research." He also had the good taste to blush.

"Hey, guys," Roy exclaimed, coming up to them with Connor, "you've got to come meet these two chicks…Holy shi—"He had just recognized the man they were talking to.

Bruce glared at him. "I wouldn't finish that phrase if I were you, Mr. Harper," he said, glaring at the red headed eighteen years old. "Connor, I thought you had better sense than this."

Connor didn't blush, he didn't look ashamed, nor did he look apologetic. He was intimidated by the Bat, something none of the others of his circle could understand. "Jason asked me to come," he explained, quite calmly. "I made a promise to a friend and I always keep my promises."

"Some promises shouldn't be made," "Matches" growled at him, spitting out his toothpick. "I would suggest you and your brother head home…and I think your father will have a few things to say to you two in the morning."

"Yes, Sir," both Roy and Connor replied.

"Go on then," he ordered them, sternly. "Now!"

Giving their friends looks of sympathy, or at least Roy did, the two teenage archers turned and headed for the exit—rather quickly, too.

"Matches" turned his attention back to his boys. "I'll be done here in a little bit," he told them. "I'll expect you home when I get there."

"Yes, Sir," both boys answered, blushing again.

"In the study," "Matches" told them, firmly.

Both boys paled at that. The only time they were told to meet him in the study was when…yep, they were in BIG TROUBLE. At least, Jason knew he was. Dick just looked back at the man with a hardened expression.

"Something on your mind?" "Matches" asked him raising an eyebrow.

Dick's jaw tightened. "It can wait," he said, stiffly.

"Matches" nodded. "Go on then," he growled a them. "Now!"

Like their friends before them, they turned and headed straight for the exit (and Dick's waiting bike out front) very quickly.

"You were saying?" Jason asked him, glaring.

"Shut up," Dick growled, hopping on to the bike and starting her up. "Just shut up."

Hopping on behind him, Jason snorted. _You're just mad cuz Dad's gonna roast your ass the same as mine!_

Almost as if he could read his brother's mind, Dick tightened his grip on the handle bars and gunned the engine. They sped off in the night, headed for home.

They were busted, in more than one way, and they both knew it.

This was not going to be pretty.

TBC…


	7. Too Old I

Batman

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

(AN—This chapter contains spanking of an eighteen year old. Don't like, don't read.)

Chapter 7: Too Old (I)

Bruce made his way up from the Batcave.

He had gathered the evidence he needed, called Commissioner Gordon, and then left. Returning home, he had stripped out of his 'hood' clothing, showered—washing off the confoundedly itchy cosmetic beard—and then dressed in a sweater and blue jeans.

Now it was time to deal with his errant sons. He sighed at the thought of the two boys waiting in his study for him. He wasn't worried so much about the younger of the two, for despite his rebellious nature Jason was all too well aware of the rules and consequences for breaking those rules.

Dick was another story, however.

Of his three sons, Dick was not only the oldest but he was also the one that most like him. Not only had he lost his parents in a disturbingly similar fashion as him, but he also had the same drive to see justice done that he did. Jason and Tim took crime fighting very seriously, but Dick (like him) made it his life.

Bruce sighed again, reaching the hidden door behind the clock in the living room. Yes, Dick was going to be a problem.

Since turning eighteen a few months back, the boy's moods had become somewhat irregular. At times, he was the same boy he'd always been—serious, yet also good natured—but other times there was a defiance and anger in him that threatened to erupt at any moment. Bruce had a feeling it was going to be one of _those_ nights.

Down below, he had used the Bat computer to see what the boys were doing in the study but that had been at least fifteen minutes before so he decided to open the door a crack to see if they were still as they had been. Yep, Dick was still pacing the floor and Jason was still watching him.

"Would you quit it already?" he heard Jason tell his older brother. "You know as well as I do what the old man's gonna do. Pacing isn't going to do you any good."

Dick let out a growl and glared at his younger brother. "We know what he's going to do to _you_," he told him, "but there's no way in hell I'm gonna let him do it to me! I'm too old!"

Jason snorted at that. "Yeah right," he said, "like Dad is really just gonna let what you did slide. You're crazy!"

Dick just growled again and started pacing again.

Bruce put his head on the door, and sighed. He knew exactly what he was going to have to do, but he hated it. What hurt him more was that he knew Dick would _hate_ him for doing it afterwards, but knowing that it was for the boy's own good never the less. He loved his son, even if it meant causing a wedge between them to prove it.

Steeling himself, he opened the door and walked in. The two boys turned to regard him nervously. Jason's eyes showed he didn't like was going to happen but that he was prepared for it never the less. Dick's eyes only showed defiance and a resolve to stand firm.

"Jason," Bruce said, his face and voice stern, "go on up to your room and get ready for bed. I'll be up to speak to you after I've spoken to your brother."

A moment of relief shown in the younger boy's eyes, at not having to be the first to face his father's wrath he supposed, but it quickly was replaced with resolve once more. "Yes, Sir," he said, and then headed past him to do as he was told.

When the door closed behind him, this left Bruce and Dick alone in the study—one on each end, facing the other.

For several moments, father and son merely stared at each other. Their nearly identical blue eyes held an almost indomitable will that would not yield no matter what—it would come down to who's will was stronger and Bruce knew it would be his. Strong willed his boy may be, but no one could match him for sheer stubbornness (as Alfred liked to remind him every once in a while).

Bruce moved over to his desk, which Dick was standing by, and leaned against it. "I'm very disappointed in you, Richard," he said, letting that disappointment be heard in his voice. "Not only did you shuck your responsibilities tonight, you also lied to me—something you haven't done in quite a while."

Dick winced, remembering the last (and only) time he'd lied to his adopted father. H'd been eight, it was a few months after his parents' deaths, and he'd lied about going to visit his parents' graves. Now that he was older, he could understand why it was silly to lie about that but at the time he wasn't sure how Bruce would feel about him visiting them so he'd told him he'd been playing in the basement. Since the 'basement' was the Bat cave, and he hadn't known Bruce's secret yet, the man had known he was telling him a lie.

He hadn't been happy about it, either.

He wasn't happy now, that was for sure.

"If you'd only told me what you had planned," Bruce told him, ignoring the glare being sent his way or the stubborn set to the boy's jaw, "I'd have informed both you and Jason that I intended to take you with me as Flint and Striker."

Flint and Striker Malone was the teenage 'hood' sons of Matches Malone and every once in a while would 'hook' up with the old man for a 'racket'—in truth they were usually there to bust sad 'racket'.

Bruce crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at the (as of yet) unresponsive eighteen year old. "Tell me, son," he asked, "what are the rules regarding lying in this house?"

Dick sighed. "Not to, of course," he told him, rolling his eyes.

Bruce's eyes hardened at the defiant tone he heard. "Then why did you?" he asked.

"I'm eighteen, Bruce," Dick told him, stubbornly, "I don't have to tell you where I'm going every time I leave!"

"If you truly felt that way, Richard," Bruce told him, knowingly, "you would have simply told me where you were going instead of making up some excuse. Now tell me, son, what is the consequence in this house for lying?"

Dick growled. "I'm not playing this game with you," he practically shouted at him, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bruce growled back. "Answer the question, Richard Grayson," he commanded in a tone that was normally reserved for the hardened scum of the city, "what is the punishment for lying to me?!"

Dick's jaw set stubbornly, but he answered, "A spanking."

Bruce nodded. "Are you ready to accept that punishment?" he asked, knowingly.

Now would come the part he dreaded most.

Dick's blue eyes flashed fire. "No, I'm not," he said between clenched teeth. "I'm eighteen freakin' year old, Bruce! I'm too old for this crap now!"

Bruce steeled himself and said, "As long as you live in this house, Richard Grayson Wayne, you will live by the rules I set for you ten years ago and you will face the consequences for breaking those rules."

"Well maybe I won't live in this house anymore," Dick threw at him, as he knew he would.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked. "Where will you go, then? Back to the circus?" A low blow, he knew, but one that needed to be said none the less.

Dick growled again. "No," he yelled, "I'll rent an apartment or something?"

Bruce again looked at him quizzically. "How do you plan to pay for it?" he asked, curious.

"I have a trust fund," Dick reminded him, smugly.

"That doesn't come into play until you are twenty-one," Bruce reminded him right back, wiping the smug look from his face. He knew now he was going to win this battle.

Dick's eyes took on a desperate look as he searched for a means to win his argument. "I'll get a job," he said, "just like any other guy my age."

"You could," Bruce said, knowing he was about to deliver the final (and hurtful) blow, "but that would mean having to either give up school or crime fighting. The first is absolutely out of the question. Are you truly ready, son, to give up the second?"

Dick swallowed, biting his lip. His brain frantically searched for a solution and unfortunately for him didn't find it. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "No, Sir," he answered his father honestly.

Bruce nodded. "Then I guess you'll just have to stay right here, won't you?" he asked, going around his desk to retrieve something from the top draw.

Dick's eyes followed him, knowing what he was about to get. "Yes, Sir," he answered again, his voice defeated as the defiance he felt most of the night left him rather suddenly.

Bruce retrieved the paddle from his desk drawer and ran a hand over it. For three generations this paddle had been used by the patriarchs of the Wayne family to discipline their sons. His grandfather had used it on his father, his father (and Alfred) had used it on him, and he (more than he would have liked, unfortunately) had used it on is three boys.

"Then since you're staying," he told him, "you obviously agree to follow the rules of this house and therefore face the consequences of breaking those rules, don't you?"

Blinking back tears, Dick nodded. "Yes, Sir," he answered again, feeling more like the eight year old boy he had once been about to face his first punishment than the eighteen year old young man he had proclaimed (loudly) to be moments before.

Bruce nodded, coming around the desk. "Then you know what comes next," he told his oldest child. "Drop your pants, Richard Grayson, and bend over my desk."

Dick flinched, not out of fear for despite the fact he was about to set his backside on fire he knew he was perfectly safe with his dad, but obeyed. Dropping his pants and boxers, he bent forward over Bruce's desk. As his cheek touch the woodened surface, he silently cursed the day he'd grown to tall to be turned across Bruce's knee—as mortifying as that was he at least been on the receiving end of Bruce's hand rather than the paddle.

"Under no circumstances do you EVER lie to me, young man," Bruce told him sternly, as he raised the paddle back. "Is that understood?"

A sob catching his throat, Dick answered, "Yes, Sir." He tensed, waiting for the first _pop_!

_POP!_

Despite being prepared for it, the first crack of the paddle on his exposed rear caused him to hiss in surprise at the warming sensation it sent throughout his entire posterior.

_POP! POP!_

The next two blows, in rapid succession of each other, sent heat flaring over his butt cheeks and turning them a pale shade of pink. He felt tears sting his eyes and bit his lip.

_POP! POP! POP!_

Now his backside felt roasted and was probably a candy apple red. Tears began to slide down his reddened (face) cheek.

_POP! POP! POP!_

Dick sniffed, the sob trying to escape but he forced it back down. He was eighteen, too old to left a little thing like a spanking get to him.

"It's almost over, son," Bruce told him gently. "Four more and we'll be done."

_POP! POP! POP!_

Those were the hardest and they'd been delivered to the sensitive under curve. He wouldn't be sitting well tomorrow, that was for sure.

_CRACK!_

The final blow was delivered with enough force to cause him to jump up from the desk to grab his backside that felt suddenly numb despite the heat radiating from it. The moment his hands came into contact with his very red globes, he could no longer stop the tears and sobs.

Bruce put the paddle up, but then came back around and placed his hands on his son's shoulders.

"You are never too old to face the consequences of your actions, son," he told him, reaching up to wipe the tears from his cheeks—which were as red as the ones on his rear end at the moment. "You know what you did tonight was wrong, don't you?"

Dick simply nodded, unable to really answer. Tonight had been an act of defiance rather than a true desire to go to the rave. He had wanted to prove he was man now, but instead all he'd proved was that he was—in a lot of ways—still just a kid. A kid who still needed his dad very much.

Bruce knew this, and pulled him into a hug. Each and every time he had to discipline one of his boys, it hurt him. His father had once told him that 'it hurts me a lot more than it hurts you son" and he—at the ripe old age of seven—had asked quite indignantly 'how?" He had, of course, just been on the receiving end of the very same paddle he'd used on Dick and had been rubbing his stinging rear end at the time.

His father had responded by saying, "The hurt you feel, son, goes away after a little while but the hurt I feel _never_ goes away because I know I've had to cause the most precious thing in the world to me pain for his own good and that hurts me more than any sore rear end in the world could."

At seven, he hadn't really understood. At thirty-seven, and the father of three very special sons, he knew all too well what his father had meant. Yes, all too well.

Dick cried on his shoulder a bit more, but then slowly regained control of his emotions—enough to remember he was still bare assed, anyway—and disentangled himself from father. To hide the embarrassment he suddenly felt, he bent down to pull up his dropped jeans and boxers. He couldn't help but hiss as the material came into contact with his—_extremely_—sore ass.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, unable to meet his father's eyes at that moment.

Bruce grinned, reaching to pull the boy's chin up. "We all make mistakes, son," he told him, "but you know that once punishment as been meted out all's forgiven."

Dick nodded, grinning a bit. Despite his overly stern and extremely over protective nature a times, Bruce really was a fair dad. He set the rules for the boys and the consequences, he never punished them for every little infraction and never held a mistake over their heads past whatever punishment (and they didn't involve the paddle, by the way) he deemed necessary.

"I guess I'm not as ready to move out as I thought I was," Dick admitted, sheepishly.

Bruce nodded. "No, not yet," he agreed, "but when you are—and you'll _know_, son—we'll sit down together and talk about it. Okay?"

Dick nodded. "I'd like that," he said, blushing. "I know I've been an ass lately…"

"No more so than I was at eighteen," Bruce told him, smirking. "Young men your age, son, are usually always the same. Your considered adults under the law, have your first taste of freedom, and believe that makes you adults. I was the exact same way, in fact I was worse because I thought since my parents were gone I had the right to do as I pleased. Believe me, Alfred disabused me of that notion very quickly!"

Dick chuckled. "Did he ever make you bend over the desk?" he asked, cheekily.

Bruce smiled, glad to see some of his son's former humor returning. It meant things between the were going to be all right, something he was VERY glad about.

"You kidding?" he asked, wincing. "My ass was in the air so much I thought it was going to grow wings."

Dick laughed at that, but then winced. "I know the feeling," he said, reaching back to rub his still stinging posterior.

Bruce nodded. "C'mon," he said, placing a hand. "You need to be in bed and I still have Jason to deal with." He began to steer him toward the study door.

"No paddle?" Dick asked, smirking.

"Nope," Bruce answered, opening the door and they headed up the stairs. "Jason pulled a childish stunt, so he gets a child's punishment."

"Over the knee with a hairbrush," Dick said, wincing. "Ouch." He'd been on the receiving end of one of those as well.

Bruce nodded, but sighed. "I sometimes wonder if you three aren't going to be the death of me," he said, lifting his eyes heavenward.

"Nah," Dick told him. "Joker'll probably get you before us."

Bruce snorted. "Thanks a lot," he said, dryly. "Now, off to bed you." He gave him a little shove toward his bedroom door.

Dick snapped off a crisp salute. "Aye, aye, Sir," he said, smirking.

Bruce shook his head as he watched him retreat into his room. _Cheeky brat,_ he thought heartened despite what he had to do now.

At Jason's door, he sighed.

One down, one to go.

TBC…

(AN—I'm giving you all fair warning. The next chapter will also have a spanking scene in it, but I don't want to get any comments about how spanking is the main focus of this story--because it isn't--I simply think if you're going to discipline one child for breaking the rule you should punish the other child the same way for breaking the same rule. It's only fair, after all. Please review. Thanks.)


	8. Too Old II

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

(AN—This chapter contains spanking. Don't like, don't read.)

Chapter 8: Too Old (II)

Bruce made his way up to Jason's bedroom and found the teenager sitting on his bed, dressed only in pajama bottoms (his usual night wear), and listening to a CD.

Upon seeing his father, Jason removed the headphones with a wince. "No paddle?" he asked, sighing.

"No paddle," Bruce said, coming over and sitting on the bed beside him.

Jason sighed. "Aren't I too old to be turned across your knee?" he asked, hopefully.

Bruce grinned. "Was Dick too old for the paddle?" he asked, smirking.

"No," Jason replied, mournfully.

"There's your answer," his father told him.

The boy nodded. "All right," he said, "let's get it over with then."

Bruce shook his head. "Not just yet," he said. "I want to talk first."

Jason rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned back. His very pose the picture perfect teenage rebel. "Go ahead," he said, "lecture away."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. "That's what I want to talk about," he said. "Jason, we've always seen things differently and you've always had a little bit of an attitude—but lately, it's getting out of hand, son, and I want to know why?"

The teenager just looked off to the side, his jaw setting stubbornly.

Bruce reached over and turned his head back toward him. "Son," he said, firmly. "Talk to me."

Jason jerked his head out of his hold. "Am I your son?" he asked, scornfully. "Because I thought only Dick was."

"What?" Bruce asked, puzzled. "Why would you say that?"

"Because," Jason growled, "it's always about Dick! Dick is your heir, Dick gets to be Batman after you, and Dick gets all the praise! I don't mean to go all Jan Brady here, but it's always Dick! Dick! Dick!"

"Dick is also the one with all the responsibility," Bruce reminded him, sternly. "He doesn't like it any better than you do, believe me, but of the three of you he is the one I know I can depend on to take my place when it's time for me step down—or if something happens to me."

Despite his anger, Jason winced at that. Bruce dying in the line of duty was a very big possibility and it was also one he didn't want to think about. "What about me?" he asked. "Why couldn't I take your place?"

"Because," Bruce told him, "despite your tough guy persona you try to pull off, you care too much."

"What?" Jason asked, uncertainly.

Bruce sighed. "You let your emotions make your decisions for you, Jason," he told him, "and that isn't necessarily a bad thing—but it is a dangerous thing when you're a crime fighter. Take the other night? You rushed in trying because you were excited about busting the Scarecrow, and it could have gone badly—very badly—if we hadn't taken them by surprise."

"I knew what I was doing," Jason defended himself. "You're always so cautious…"

"I'm cautious for a reason, son," Bruce told him, "because I have three very important reasons not to get myself killed."

Jason looked down, uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he said, after a moment.

"Jason," Bruce said, reaching over and lifting his chin, "no matter what, though, I don't love Dick or Tim any more than I love you. You are all three my sons—true, none of you came from my body—but that makes you even more special. I _chose _you three for who you all were and I love you for that reason, too. I am very proud of each of you. Please, try and remember that even when I don't say it. Okay?"

Jason nodded. "All right," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I will…Dad."

Bruce smiled. "Good," he said, but then turned stern, "but now, young man, we have to deal with tonight little escapade."

Jason smirked. "Leave it to you to turn the tables on an emotional moment," he said, shaking his head.

Bruce nodded, grinning. "C'mere," he said, taking hold of the boy's arm and guiding him face down over his lap.

"Uh," Jason said, glancing back, "down?"

Bruce nodded. "Down," he said, and promptly pulled the boy's pajama bottoms down along with his briefs.

"This is totaling embarrassing," Jason groaned.

Bruce chuckled. "It ain't exactly a picnic for me either," he told him, raising his hand back.

Bringing it down over the exposed behind, he began spanking in an even rhythm spreading out the smacks over both cheeks until they were both a decent shade of pink.

Jason bit his lip as the heat in his rear end increased with each smack. This wasn't his first time in this position and it probably wouldn't be his last, but that didn't mean it still didn't hurt.

After about thirty swats, his behind felt like it was on fire and he couldn't take anymore.

"Dad," he gasped, trying hard to hold back the tears, "please."

Bruce knew he'd had enough and delivered one final smack that was just a bit stronger than the last as a last reminder to the boy to stay out of trouble in the future. He then pulled his pajama pants back into place and let him off his lap.

Jason rubbed at his eyes, trying to get the tears out of them. He didn't want his dad to see him crying.

Bruce grinned, stood up, and pulled the boy into a hug. "I know it hurts," he told him, "but it'll pass."

Jason leaned into his father. "Easy for you to say," he grumbled, reaching back to rub his behind.

"Hey," Bruce told him, "be glad I'm not Alfred. He'd have laid into with a wooden spoon."

Jason grinned. "Speaking from personal experience, are we?" he asked, smirking.

"Let's just say," Bruce said, reaching back to rub his own behind, "I know exactly how you feel right now."

Jason laughed at that. "Nice to know you aren't perfect," he told him.

Bruce reached out and ruffled his hair. "No one's perfect, son," he told him, "not even me. I'm hard on you boys, the girls, and myself because I'm trying to keep us all alive."

"I know," his son told him, "and I'm sorry for being just pain in the ass lately."

"Watch your language, young man," Bruce told him, smiling, "and it's okay. Teenagers are supposed to be pains in the ass. Right now, there's one pain I know that needs to be in bed."

Jason nodded. "Sure thing, Pops," he told him, climbing into bed and rolling over on his stomach. "Night."

"Good night, son," Bruce told him, shutting out his light and closing the door.

Turning around, he practically barreled into Tim.

"Now," he asked, "what are you doing up, young man?"

TBC…


	9. Too Old III

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

Chapter 9: Too Old (III)

Tim bit his lip, staring up as his father. "Uh, well…"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at his youngest. "Well, son?" he asked, fists on his hips.

"I just wanted to tell you goodnight," Tim said, quickly. "So…Goodnight!" He turned and started for his bedroom.

"Hold it," Bruce said, grabbing a hold of the seat of his pajamas. "Not so fast, young man."

He knelt down on one knee so that he and the boy would be more or less on the same level. "Tim?" he asked, knowingly. "What's wrong?"

Tim looked around, as if making sure the coast was clear.

Bruce grinned. "C'mere," he said, standing up and hefting the boy over his shoulder. "We'll go to my room and talk."

"C'mon, Dad," Tim protested, "put me down."

"Nope," Bruce told him, heading into his room.

"I mean it, Dad," Tim said, trying to sound intimidating, "put…me…down!"

Bruce smirked. "If you say so," he said, and promptly tossed the twelve year old onto his bed.

"Dad," Tim groaned, as he bounced once and then landed on his back, "aren't I too old for this?"

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes. "What is it with you boys tonight?" he asked, sitting down on the bed. "Suddenly you all three think your so old for some reason! Trust me, your not too old until…"

"We're your age?" Tim asked, smirking.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "No," he said, feigning a punch to the boy's gut. "When your Alfred's age…maybe, and I mean _maybe_, you'll be too old but definitely not before."

Tim grinned. "I'm gonna tell him you said that," he said, "and then you'll be in trouble."

"Little brat," Bruce growled, pulling him toward him by the leg, "are you trying to get yourself a spanking?" He started tickling the boy mercilessly.

Tim wriggled and squirmed, laughing. "Dad, stop!" he squealed. "I'm gonna wet myself!"

"Well," Bruce said, smirking, "seeing as how your on my bed at the moment I certainly don't want that to happen so…I guess I'll go easy on you. This time."

Tim smiled. "Your crazy," he told him, "but I still like you."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Only like?" he asked him, curiously.

Tim blushed. "Okay," he admitted, "maybe _more _than like."

"Uh huh," Bruce said, smiling. "That's good, because I _more than_ like you, too."

He reached out and ruffled the twelve year olds hair, causing him to groan. "Ah, Dad," he moaned, "not the hair!"

Bruce just chuckled. "All right, son," he said, turning serious, "you don't usually stay up to tell me goodnight unless you want to talk so…spill. What's up?"

Tim sighed. "Well," he said, hesitantly, "there's this jerk at school and…"

"He's been bothering you," Bruce guessed, knowingly. He'd dealt with a few school yard bullies himself when he'd been Tim's age.

"Well, not jut me," Tim said, "he picks on everybody—well, except Cassie."

Bruce grinned. "He's smart," he said. "_I_ wouldn't pick on Cassie, either."

"Yeah, me either," Tim agreed, "but that's kinda my problem. Everybody knows that Cassie's dad was an assassin and that she can kick some serious butt, so she can stand up to him, but me…"

"But you, what?" Bruce asked him.

"I can't stand up to him, Dad," Tim said, "otherwise people might put two and two together."

"Why do you say that?" Bruce asked.

"Well," Tim said, "wouldn't it look strange if I suddenly kicked the guys butt?"

"Why should it?" Bruce asked, smirking. "If anyone asks, just tell them your father has been teaching you karate."

"You mean," Tim asked, hopefully, "you wouldn't be mad at me if I got into a fight?"

_So that's it!_ Bruce realized. "I don't want you to start anything, son," he told him, gently, "but if this boy starts hassling you I want you to defend yourself. Okay?"

Tim grinned. "Thanks, Dad," he said, smiling—which promptly turned into a huge yawn.

Bruce grinned. "I think its time someone was in bed," he said, getting up.

"Okay," Tim said, and started to get up.

"Why don't you just stay in here tonight, son?" Bruce suggested, heading into the bathroom to pull on his own night wear.

"Uh," Tim said, blushing, "I'm kinda old to be sleeping…"

Bruce came back out dressed only in his boxers—his usual night attire—and gave the boy a pointed look.

Tim smiled. "All right," he said, "but just for tonight." He crawled over and climbed under the covers.

Bruce chuckled, going around to the other side of the bed. "Don't worry, son," he told Tim as he pulled the covers over both of them, "I won't tell if you don't."

"Okay," Tim said, sleepily. "Night, Dad." He closed his eyes and was soon breathing evenly.

Bruce chuckled. _Yeah, WAY too old!_

_Not!_

"Sweet dreams, kiddo," he said, placing a fatherly kiss onto the top of his head.

With that, he turned out the light and rolled over. He too was soon fast asleep.

TBC…


	10. Epilogue

Batman

"My Three Sons: Batman Style"

Summary: Bruce tackles raising three sons: Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Author's Note(s): For the purpose of this story: 1) Jason Todd did not die. He, like his older brother Dick, outgrew the Robin persona and created his own: _Talon_. His costume is black, except for three red slashes across his chest. 2) Dick is eighteen, Jason is fifteen, and Tim is twelve. 3) Barbara didn't become Oracle, was never shot, and chose to make herself into a new crime fighter called _Kestrel_. 4) Cassie Cain lives with Babs and Commisioner Gordon rather than Bruce. She's _Batgirl_. 5) The two girls are the same age as Dick and Tim.

**Warning**: **This story will contain the corporal punishment of teenagers—even an eighteen year old—and adolescents. If this bothers you, DO NOT READ OR REVIEW THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just wrote this story for the fun of it._

Chapter 10: Epilogue

Batman stood atop a rooftop, gazing down at the city that he had sworn to protect long ago. Many things had changed since he had first put on the cape and cowl…and most of them stood behind him.

Turning he gazed upon the five young people standing there: Kestrel, Talon, Nightwing, Robin, and Batgirl. All five were dressed in different costumes but were united by two common things: their devotion to doing what was right and their unhesitant trust in him.

He was more than a little proud of the first and was unsure whether it was entirely wise of the second. He was human, he made mistakes, and one of these days he might not come home. What worried him more, and what kept him from making sure that didn't happen, was the thought that one of _them_ might not come home one night.

He would die before he allowed something to happen to any of them. Either that, or the criminals would.

"We're ready whenever you are, sir," Nightwing told him, smirking.

"Let's do it, Pops," Talon said, grinning.

"I'm all set, Dad," Robin piped up, eager to begin the patrol.

He nodded at his three boys, glancing at Kestrel. The former Batgirl was dressed in a Kevlar suit dyed blue and black—similar in appearance to Nightwing's, except that she wore a short cape. Her beautiful red hair spilled down her back, blowing gently in the night air.

She smiled at him. "We're with you," she told him.

"Completely," Batgirl said, nodding seriously.

He nodded back, just as serious, and turned once more to gaze at the rooftops.

"All right," he told them. "Let's go."

As he launched himself into the night, he allowed the barest trace of a smile touch his lips.

He had vowed long ago to defend the people of this city from any thing that threatened them. At the time, his vow had been made as a means of ensuring what happened to him didn't happen again.

Now, he had an even bigger reason for being the Dark Knight…his family.

For Batman wasn't alone anymore, and that was the way he intended to keep it.

The End.

A.N. I know this probably seems like I'm cutting things a bit short, but I never intended for this to be a long, drawn out story. I simply wanted to show a glimspe of what Bruce's life would be like if all three of his "Robins" were in the picture. I hope I have one that, at least. On another note, I have been feeling a bit frustrated that I seem to be able to create anything original. As much as I enjoy writing fan fiction, they are still someone else's characters, and I have always dreamed of getting an original work published. So, I probably won't be adding anything new anytime soon. I intend to finish the stories I have going at the moment, and maybe even deleting one or two of them, but after that it will probably be a while before I write anything new--at least fan fiction wise. With me searching for a teaching position, and concentrating on my original writing, I honestly don't think I'll have the time. I hope, when I do return to writing fan fics, that you will remember my stories and want to read any new ones that will come later. Thank you all for being wonderful readers. It's appreciated.


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